32.
HEY, ZKANKOYE

As men fort kine Sevastopol
Is nit veit fun Simferopol
Dortn iz a stanzie faran.
Ver darf zuchen ny-e gliken
S'iz a stanzie an antikel 
In Zhankoye, dzhan, dzhan, dzhan.

CHORUS:

Hey, Zhan, hey Zhankoy-e,
Hey, Zhanvili, hey Zhankoy-e 
Hey, Zhankoy-e, dzhan, dzhan, dzhan.

Enfert Yidden oyf mine kashe, 
"Vi'z mine bruder, vi'z Abrashe? 
S'gayt ba im der tractor vi a bahn."
Di mim-e Lay-e ba der koslike
Bayle ba der molotilke
In Zhankoy-e, dzhan, dzhan, dzhan.

CHORUS:

Ver zogt az Yidden kenen nor handlen,
Essen fette yoich mit mandlen
Nor nit zine kine arbetsman?
Dos kenen zogen nor de sonim,
Yidden, shpite zay on in ponim!
Tut a kuk oyf dzhan, dzhan, dzhan.

CHORUS:
************************************

As one goes from Sevastopol,
Not so far from Simferopol,
Just you go a little further on.
There's a little railroad depot,
Known quite well by all the people,
In Zhankoy-e, dzhan, dzhan, dzhan.

CHORUS:
Hey, Zhan, hey Zhankoy-e,
Hey Zhanvili, hey, Zhankoy-e,
Hey, Zhankoy-e, dzhan, dzhan, dzhan.

Oh, Jews, give answer to my question,
"Where's my brother, where's Abrashe?
With him the tractor travels like a
  train,"
Auntie Laya drives the reaper,
Bayla works the cream extractor
In Zhankoye, dzhan, dzhan, dzhan.,

CHORUS:
                       (cont.)

Who says that Jews know only sellln',
And to eat fatty soups with mandlen,
But cannot be damn good workmen.
Only our enemies can speak thus;
Spit in their eyes who would so harm
  us.
Take a look at zhan, zhan, zhan.

CHORUS:

MEN OF TOIL (HARK! THE BATTLE CRY IS
             RINGING)

Hark! the battle cry is ringing'
Hope within our bosoms springing,
Bids us journey forward,
Death to tyrants' might!
Though we wield nor spear nor sabre,
We the sturdy sons of labor,
Helping every man his neighbor,
Shrink not from the fight.
See our homes before us,
Wives and babes implore us.
So firm we stand in heart and hand
And swell the dauntless chorus.

CHORUS:
Men of labor, young or hoary,
Would ye win a name in story?
Strike for home, for life, for glory,
Justice, freedom, right.

Long in wrath and desperation,
Long in hunger, shame, privation,
Have we born the degredation,
Of the rich man's spite.
Now disdaining, useless sorrow,
Hope from brighter thoughts we'll
  borrow;
Often shines the fairest morrow,
After stormiest night.
Tyrant hearts, take warning,
Nobler days are dawning;
Heroic deeds, sublimer creeds,
Shall herald freedom's morning!

CHORUS:


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